I Have my Reasons: The Tale of Cin Vhetin
by Vhetin1138
Summary: A Star Wars: White Snow tale. Two bounty hunters, members of an elite Imperial strike team, are dispatched to Anchorhead, Tatooine, to hunt down a dangerous fugitive from justice. See reviews for full synopsis. Rated T for violence and some language.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: After reading through Kevin J. Anderson's Star Wars anthology, _Tales of the Bounty Hunters_, I thought it would be a fun change from my usual stories if I created an addition of my own to that book. This story still ties into the actual _Star Wars: White Snow _storyline, and it will reveal a little more of Cin Vhetin's mysterious past. This story takes place between Episodes III and IV. Hope you enjoy it.

I Have My Reasons: The Tale of Cin Vhetin

"_When you find yourself in a combat situation, your first emotions are usually the right ones, even if they're cowardly. If your instincts tell you to turn tail and run as fast as you can, nine times out of ten it'll be safer to listen to that instinct._

_Remember, credits aren't any good if you aren't alive to spend them. And if you can't take down your target, who else will step up?"_

-Cin Vhetin, during a training session with his future partner, Jay Kolta

1

Hallan Retchata sprinted through the crowded streets of Anchorhead, Tatooine, frantically throwing glances over his shoulder and shoving other beings out of the way as he went. Screams echoed down the streets as red blaster bolts impacted against the walls, sending red-hot chunks of rock flying through the air.

"Get out of my way!" he screamed as a skinny Rodian dove to the ground at his feet. He jumped right over the bug-eyed alien and kept running.

A blaster bolt impacted against the back of his leg, and he stumbled, sprawling into the sand. Beings screamed and ran for their lives, covering their heads as more blaster bolts split the air around them. Retchata grimaced and stumbled to his feet, limping and throwing people behind him as he continued to flee from his attackers.

He swung around a corner and pressed his back to the wall, panting heavily and trying his best not to whimper in terror.

He glanced around the corner and saw a scene fit for a battlefield. Beings of all shapes and siezes ran for their lives while local militia troopers opened up at the perpetrators.

He hadn't fully seen his attackers; as soon as he heard the snapping of blasters, he'd turned tail and ran. He'd had a rough history with some pretty shady characters, and he'd learned very early on that if there were blaster bolts flying, they were probably for him. Now that he was fairly well hidden, however, he could take some time to see just who was after him this time.

His attackers were keeping to the shadows, making sure that no security cams could pick them up. Typical black-ops mindset; whoever had targeted him obviously didn't want their dogs to have a lot of publicity.

Retchata had good eyes, though, and could easily pick out a few important details. There were two of them, both athletically built. He squinted and made out angular armor plates, long-barreled blasters, and the silver spoked wheel insignia of the Imperial Military. And unless he was very much mistaken-

He ducked back around the wall, breathing hard and feeling terror seep back into his system.

Imperials? What the kriff were _Imperials_ doing going chasing after him? And a _Mandalorian_ at that?

He shook his head and stared up at the sky, thinking, _What did I ever do to deserve this?_

Then he took a deep breath and limped down the side street. If he was lucky, he'd be able to get some distance between himself and the Imperials before they finished dealing with the militia.

* * *

><p>"Cover!"<p>

The two Imperials dove around a corner as the wall they'd been standing in front of exploded, riddled with multiple blaster shots. The first Imperial, wearing slate-gray Mandalorian armor, threw himself back into the open and squeezed off three shots. The shots were met almost instantly with three screams.

The second Imperial, wearing black-gray Mandalorian armor with a shiny silver Imperial insignia painted onto the forehead, grabbed his partner by the back of his neck plate, yanking him back to cover. He snapped, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He was met with a blank stare. Then his partner said, "We're under fire. I'm dealing with the situation."

"By shooting into a crowded street full of Imperial civilians?" Vhetin cried. "Have you ever heard the term, 'minimal collateral damage?'"

His partner chuckled and reloaded his rifle. "If Vader wanted 'minimal collateral damage,' he wouldn't have sent us. Besides, being kind to civvies isn't in our contract; all we were told to do is bring Retchata in."

Vhetin grunted and turned back to the street, risking a glance around the corner. He jerked back as three blaster bolts missed him by less than a centimeter. "Exactly. Retchata is our only target. These damn militia troopers aren't part of the deal, so leave them be."

His partner chuckled. "Sometimes, Vhetin, I don't think you have the balls for this job."

"Why, because I don't enjoy causing massacres that'll be plastered all over the HoloNews? This was supposed to be a _covert _operation."

The gray Mandalorian sighed and said, "If I set my gun to stun, will you stop complaining?"

"It would go a long way, yes," Vhetin muttered.

"Fine," the gray Mandalorian said. He pulled a stun grenade from his belt and primed it with the press of a single button. It let out a high-pitched whine as he tossed it around the corner. Calmly, his partner folded his arms and counted off, "Three... two... one."

Vhetin turned away as a flash of blinding white light exploded from behind the corner, swiftly followed by a collassal roar that echoed through the city. The audio dampers in Vhetin's helmet were hard-pressed to dull the sound, but at least he didn't go deaf.

He gritted his teeth and glared at his partner through his helmet's T-visor. "_Covert_ Operation," he growled.

Again, his partner shrugged. "Are you going to sit there bitching all day, or are you going to take advantage of our little break and go after Retchata?"

Vhetin shook his head and headed around the corner. The street beyond was littered with the unconscious forms of the local militia. His partner slowly walked up to one of them and prodded him with the tip of his boot. The trooper groaned, but didn't wake.

"I'll keep a handle on things here," his partner said. "You just head after Retchata. I'll catch up after I mop up the last of the militia troops."

Vhetin nodded and triggered his rocket pack, flying just high enough to land safely on the roof of a nearby building. His motion tracker booted up as the tracer he and his partner had planted on Retchata activated. It showed that the target was a few hundred meters to the north east. Vhetin gritted his teeth and set off.

His hunt had begun.

Check out my profile on DeviantArt for character pictures, bios, and eventually some sneak peeks. Same profile name: Vhetin1138.


	2. Chapter 2

"_In a combat situation, everything is at stake. It's not just a contest between two worthy opponents; if you're on the losing end, you _will_ die. So you need to train yourself to do anything and everything physically possible to get you out of that situation. It may be the most evil, bloodthirsty act you've ever done, but the alternative is death."_

-Cin Vhetin, during a training session with his future partner, Jay Kolta

2

Hallan Retchata didn't stop running until he saw the familiar archway with the sign reading _Heartland Cantina_. With a relieved breath he stopped, leaning up against a nearby wall and pausing to catch his breath.

He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that there were karking _Imperials_ chasing him.

Maybe... maybe this had something to do with his business on Vulpter? Maybe, but _why_?

He staggered into the cantina, trying to maintain some semblance of sanity. It wasn't easy, but he managed to head to the bar without attracting too much attention. The room within was dark, with glowing holograms of stars spreading across the ceiling. There were tables set into recesses in the walls, providing the cantina's patrons with some semblance of privacy. That and the outlandish, almost eerie music that percolated through the speakers scattered around the cantina made the cantina a haven for illicit business.

The Quarren bartender looked up at him with his wide eyes and squelched in Basic, "What'll it be?"

Retchata gasped for breath and panted, "I... two shots of Corellian ale with... two squirts of Kashyyki grimple juice in each. _Quickly_."

The Quarren stared at him for a moment, then turned and stuck his tentacled head through a door behind the bar marked _Cantina_ _Employees Only. _He exchanged a few hushed words with whoever was inside, then shut the door and turned back to Retchata.

"The hell do you want to see Massona for?" came the bartender's squishing voice. His facial tentacles waved slowly as he narrowed his large black eyes.

"Come on, man," Retchata panted, supporting himself on the bar. "You _know_ me."

"I still have to ask. What do you want to see him for?"

"I have kriffing _Imperials _trying to _kill_ me!" Retchata cried, drawing several stares from across the crowded cantina. Some of the cantina's patrons immediately stood and left, attempting to flee the area before the Imps caught on to Retchata's trail.

The Quarren sighed — a slimy squishing noise — and motioned for him to follow. Retchata let out a sigh of relief as he was led through the door, into the room beyond.

The room was small and devoid of most comforts; there was little furniture, save for a small, ratty couch and a single durasteel chair, and the walls were made of the same cracked, dried-mud material from which most of Anchorhead was constructed. The floor was nothing but patted-down dirt, and there was a single door within that led to an emergency exit out to the street.

There was only one occupant in the room, standing in the center of the room. He was clothed in a rough brown jacket, faded black pants, and had a pistol tucked into his belt. He was handsome, with long black hair and startlingly green eyes that seemed to express constant calm and level-headedness. Proudly displayed along the right leg of his pants was a series of yellow dashes along the fabric, stretching from hip to ankle.

Retchata knew a Corellian Bloodstripe when he saw one, and knew for sure that it was an award that was not given lightly. Massona was not to be trifled with.

Quarren Massona gestured for Retchata to enter. As the other man ducked into the room, throwing a glance over his shoulder, Massona snapped, "What did you say? You have _Imperials_ trying to kill you? What the hell are Imperials doing here?"

Retchata threw his hands into the air. "You think _I_ know? Why do you think I'm coming to you?"

"Okay," Massona said, gesturing for him to shut up. "Just calm down. You're safe in this sector of the city; the Imps won't be able to get through our militia forces."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Retchata scoffed. "They took out an entire squad of your militia troopers before I was able to get out of there."

Massona paused.

"Dead?"

"No, just stunned" Retchata replied. "But they're still out of the fight all the same."

Massona nodded to the Quarren, who'd been silent through the duration of the conversation, and said, "Make sure."

The bartender nodded and disappeared back out into the cantina. He was only gone a tense minute at most before he stepped slowly back into the room, then nodded slowly.

Massona cursed and turned away, running a hand through his long hair. He spun back to the bartender and ordered, "Send the word out: Imperial Assassins are in Anchorhead. All our protectees are to get underground _now_ and not come out until we tell them. Inform the militia to mobilize and meet at Rendezvous Point Gamma within the hour."

The Quarren squelched an agreement, then stepped through the door again.

Massona now spun to Retchata, who flinched.

"What now?" he asked, worried that the militia leader would blast him for not helping the rest of the troopers.

Massona scowled and said, "We don't have much time. You're coming with me."

* * *

><p>Vhetin paused, ducking into a doorway while he waited for his partner to catch up with him. He snuck a glance out the doorway, wary not to be seen as local security forces raced past, headed to the scene of their previous firefight. Sirens blared in the distance and smoke was wafting into the sky.<p>

He cursed, then activated his comm unit and said, "Where _are_ you?"

A shower of dislodged dry-mud pebbles rained down above him. Vhetin instantly tensed, his rifle snapping up to the source of the movement.

"What are you doing down in the street?" his partner growled from above him. "Get up here before someone sees you."

Vhetin grasped the top of the doorway he was sheltering under and swung himself up onto the roof in a single smooth motion. As he settled into the prone position favored by long-distance snipers, he booted up his HUD's comm-scanning system and monitored local communications. As far as he could tell, there was a lot of chatter about the attack on the militia troopers, but nothing about Retchata.

"What've you got?" he asked his gray-armored partner.

His partner shrugged. "I took care of the militia reinforcements — _without_ lethal force. How about you?"

"Retchata went into the southwestern sector of the city," Vhetin said. "He's holed up inside a cantina; unknown enemy forces, unknown civilians. I don't know why he went in there."

Vhetin gestured to the cantina, which was only a few hundred meters down the street. His partner shifted his position, shouldering his rifle and sighting in on the cantina entrance.

"Well..." he muttered, watching the entrance closely, "I don't know either. But there's one way to find out."

Vhetin nodded. "We have to get in there."

His partner turned to him. "And you're sure he's in there? He didn't sneak out a back way?"

"I don't know. But let's get in there and investigate to find out for sure."

His partner grunted as he jumped down off the roof onto the street below. He was driven to his knees by the jump, but he quickly regained his balance. He looked up at Vhetin and said, "Works for me. Let's go."

Vhetin swung back over the edge and landed next to him, landing lighter even in full armor. His partner stared at him, reluctantly envying his superhuman abilities. Then he turned silently and set off toward the cantina.

As Vhetin followed, he said, "So... what's up with the new kit? Tired of the old green and red?"

"Not at all," his partner replied. "But too many infamous Mandalorians wear that color of armor; it attracts the eye. And that's not exactly fitting for a covert op."

"And yet," Vhetin shot back, "you had no compunctions about opening fire on civilian militia troopers."

"I had probable cause."

Vhetin snorted. "Sure. They weren't even _looking_ at you."

"Shut up and focus on the job at hand," his partner growled.

They slowly stepped into the darkened cantina. As usual, Vhetin kept his eyes on their peripheries while his partner provided the tough-guy look. If push came to shove, they'd need intimidation on their side to get what they needed.

"And you're sure Retchata came through here?" his partner asked, hand on his blaster rifle.

Vhetin nodded slowly. "Yeah. I saw him run right through the door like a nuna with its head cut off."

His partner grunted, his steel-gray armor turned black in the dim lighting of the cantina. Vhetin was nothing but a vague outline in the darkness, the silver Imperial insignia on his helmet forehead his only discernible feature.

As they approached the bar, the Quarren bartender glanced up at them and grunted, "Getcha something?"

Vhetin leaned forward and said, "As a matter of fact, you can; the whereabouts of Hallan Retchata."

"Never heard of him," was the predictable reply.

"You're a liar," his partner growled, tightening the grip on his blaster.

"Think what you want," the Quarren replied nonchalantly, "but I don't know any Retchata. And you'd be wasting your time arguing otherwise."

Vhetin sighed while his partner shifted his balance from foot to foot; a sure sign that he was growing impatient. And when his partner grew impatient, people tended to die. So Vhetin said, "Look, we don't want any trouble if we can help it, but if you don't help us-"

"Yeah?" the Quarren gurgled, setting aside his dishrag, "then why'd you shoot up the militia down on Fifteenth?"

At their blank stares, he continued, "Oh yeah, I know who you two are. ICF guns-for-hire, only a lil' better than mercenaries. And if you think I'm going to let you waltz on in here and start makin' demands like you own the karking place, you're wrong. It'll be a cold day in hell when I-"

Vhetin shrugged and pushed away from the bar with a weary sigh. _I warned him,_ he thought. _Now he has to live with the consequences._

His partner grabbed the Quarren by the front of his tunic while the alien was still mid-rave and hauled him across the bar, throwing him to the floor.

Vhetin pulled his pistol and fired three shots into the ceiling. Cantina patrons screamed and dived for cover as Vhetin shouted, "Everybody out! We have business with the tender, so kindly piss off while we do our jobs. Leave now and no one gets hurt."

A stampede for the door ensued, with patrons shouting and shoving each other in their dash for the exits.

"Imperial scum!" a Twi'lek female spat at them as she stumbled for the exit.

"Watch your mouth," Vhetin replied, following her with his faceless gaze. The Twi'lek shuddered and disappeared into the street.

Vhetin surveyed the empty cantina, making sure none of the more heroic patrons had left any surprises for them, then turned back to his partner and their suspect.

"Now you listen to me," his partner was growling in what passed as the Quarren's ear, "I don't care about your precious bar, and I don't care about any ties you have to the local militia. All I've been paid to do is bring in Retchata."

He slammed the bartender's tentacled face into the stone floor and continued, "I'm going to bring Retchata in; I don't care who I have to hurt or who I have to kill. So you'll be making it a lot easier on yourself if you just give up no-"

He was cut off as loud _booms_ reverberated through the cantina. Vhetin spun just as a huge durasteel blast plate slid down out of the rock housing of the building and slammed down across the entrance.

His partner shoved the Quarren aside and sprinted for another exit, reaching it a moment too late. The huge plate slammed shut over the secondary archway, sealing them in. As they watched, another blast door cut off the room behind the bar.

The eerie music playing over the speakers cut out with a sizzle and a voice boomed over the speakers, "Attention Imperials: you are currently engaged with Anchorhead Militia personnel, and are hereby subject to disciplinary action by local law enforcement. Militia troopers are currently en route, and you will be taken into custody upon their arrival."

"Massona," Vhetin murmured, recognizing the voice.

His partner slammed his fist against the thick blast plate and growled, "Damn it. This complicates things."

Vhetin increased the audio pickup in his helmet and heard the distant scream of militia law enforcement sirens, drawing nearer.

The Quarren bartender let out a gurgling laugh. "I told you. This place is going to be your grave, bucket-head scum. Ha, ha, I _told_ you that-"

Vhetin raised his pistol and shot him in the head. He then holstered his pistol and rolled the bartender over, searching his tunic for his comlink. Once found, he pocketed the device and strode back toward his parter.

"I thought you said to avoid collateral damage," his partner said, a definite air of smugness in his voice.

"Screw that," Vhetin replied. "The militia is now actively engaging us. You know the rules; resistance to Imperial interrogation is punishable by death. Now let's get out of here."

His partner rummaged in his belt pack and pulled out two fist-sized blocks of gray putty. He glanced up at Vhetin and said, "How many blocks of Q-14 do you have?"

Vhetin pulled out a single block of the putty explosive. "One. Think that'll be enough to get through these blast plates?"

"Only one way to find out." His partner was already pulling the activation tabs from the blocks and pressing them to the edges of the door. He attached the activation wires and carefully pulled his hands back as a single green light began to flash on the explosive's tiny readout. Vhetin set his against the top of the door and primed it, stepping back as the green light began to flash.

"Transfer control of the explosives to my HUD," his partner said, tapping at his gauntlet-mounted command console. After a moment, he hit a button and the lights on the explosives glowed red and a single button on his gauntlet control glowed the same color.

"Ready?" he asked. Vhetin nodded.

His partner pressed the button and said, "Fire in the hole."


	3. Chapter 3

3

_"Bounty_ _hunting __is __a __tumultuous __profession__. __You __never __know __when __your __allies __will __stab __you __in __the __back__, __or __when __you__'__ll __need __to __stab __your __allies __in __the __back __to __accomplish __your __objective__.__"_

-Cin Vhetin, during a training session with his future partner, Jay Kolta

Within five minutes, the militia had established a perimeter around the cantina, had snipers and vehicle-mounted turrets in place, and had even set up a forward command outpost in a building across the street. As Quoren Massona stepped into the room, Retchata in tow, he surveyed the communication equipment that his troopers had set up.

There was an entire wall covered in holo-monitors, and every single one of them was active. He saw thermal image scanners, communication packages, spectral image penetrators, and seemingly countless others. Almost every hologram was being monitored, with militia troopers tapping at keypads and command consoles and talking into headsets.

He stepped up next to the nearest lieutenant and put a hand on his shoulder. The liutenant jumped and turned to face his commander.

Massona nodded to the readout in front of the lieutenant and said, "What's the situation?"

"Two Mandalorians are trapped inside the cantina. We think they're Imperials."

"Damn it. Who are they?"

The militia trooper handed him a headset. "Ask 'em yourself."

Massano took the headset and spoke into the speaker.

"Identify yourself," he said.

There was a crackle of static over the comm, and Massano repeated, "Imperials, identify yourself before we have to run your corpses through our recognition software."

There was a sigh over the comm, then a familiar voice said, "Massano, you know the rules. Attacking us could be seen as an act of war against the Empire. The only reason you don't have an Imperial battle group crawling up your _shebs_ is because of my generosity."

Massano's eyes widened slightly and he said, "Vhetin? Is that you?"

"Good guess."

"What are you doing here? And why in the _hell_ are you attacking the militia that _you_ helped set up?"

"We don't have time to answer your questions, Massano," came another, more gravelly voice. "Order your men to stand down before we make them."

"And how exactly are you going to do that?" Massano growled back. "You're trapped in the cantina, and we have the entire block locked down. There's nowhere to go."

There was silence over the comm. After a few moments, Vhetin's voice came back.

"Massano, are you protecting Retchata?"

Massano had never been one to lie, but the thought crossed his mind for a moment. He shook his head and tossed the thought aside, saying, "Yeah. I am."

"Give him to us," Vhetin said, "and we can avoid some unnecessary bloodshed for everyone involved."

"Ah, Vhetin the Negotiator... I was wondering when you'd play that card," Massano said, narrowing his eyes in contempt. "But I don't see what's in it for me and my troops. Retchata's one of our protectees and an old member of the militia. If we gave up every one of our protectees just 'cause the karking Imps sent Mandalorians after them-"

"Last chance," Vhetin interrupted. "Give us Retchata or suffer the consequences."

"Go to hell," Massano replied. "You and your partner, too."

He signed off the comm and handed it back to the lieutenant. The trooper stared at him for a moment then hesitantly asked, "Sir, do you think that was the wisest thing to do? After all, they are-"

"I wouldn't change my mind if it was Darth Vader himself in there. We don't give up our protectees to anyone, least of all Imperials. Now order squads three and four to get into position. I'll be there shortly."

He turned to Retchata, who had listened in on the conversation in nervous silence.

"You," he said, "stay here and make sure you stay out of sight. You can come out once we give you the all clear. Take my ID card and tell the militia leaders at Safehouse D that I ordered them to guard you."

He turned to the lieutenant. "Give the order for the militia to move in."

"You're going to kill them?" the lieutenant asked. "After Vhetin helped us set up the militia in the first place?"

"Vhetin's stabbed us in the back by bringing the Imperials here," Massano snapped. "Did you hear the reports? He's even got a kriffing Imperial Wheel branded on his helmet's forehead. Does that sound like he's on our side any more?"

"Not really, no."

"Just give the order to attack. I'll take care of the rest." Massano turned, grabbing his rifle from the wall nearby, and strode out the door.

* * *

><p>The troopers approached the blocked-off cantina in pairs, creeping cautiously forward. Massano was paired with a young private named Calki whose eyes darting all over the area, looking for possible threats.<p>

Massano keyed his comm on all open channels and ordered, "Squad three, form up on the front blast door and get ready for a quick breach."

The comm channel flooded with affirmations, and Massano added, "Squad four, provide cover for the cutting team."

Squad four fell back, providing a gauntlet of troops for the two-man cutting team carrying the large pressure torch. The bulky piece of equipment was awkward, but it would cut through the door in no time flat. Then one of the militia troopers would toss in stun grenades and Massano would fix the problem of the Imperial invaders.

Massano stepped up to the blast door and touched it lightly with one palm. Beyond this door was a former friend turned enemy. For Massano, that always hurt. Of course, he'd never let his troops see such shows of emotion. It didn't dull the pain of being stabbed in the back, but...

He spun and motioned the cutting team forward. "Okay people, let's take care of this problem. I want to be home before dinner."

The cutting team moved forward, hauling the equipment between them, and his troopers moved to protect them.

A high-pitched whine split the air, muffled by the blast shield covering the entrance. Massano paused and slowly turned back to the door.

The edges and the top of the door began to glow red hot, and the whine only got louder.

_ No __way_, Massano thought. _No __kriffing __way__..._

He spun back to his troops, frantically shouting, "Back! Pull everybody back! _Now_!"

His militia troopers broke and ran in all directions, but it was still too late. With a deafening explosion and a pillar of fire, the blast door was blown out of its housing, taking a good chunk of the cantina roof with it. Massano grabbed Calki and dived into a nearby side alley as splinters of rock and superheated sand flashed over their heads. The blast door spun past their hiding place, embedding itself a meter deep in a nearby wall.

Two armor-clad figures dashed through the smoke and haze of the after-explosion, firing at any targets that presented themselves. Massano covered his head as blaster bolts screamed past, impacting against the wall above him and sending rock chips and sand raining down over him.

Calki yelled as he scrambled to his feet. The young militia trooper grabbed his rifle and screamed, "Damn Imperial _scum_!"

"Wait!" Massano shouted, scrambling to his feet.

He was too late; a bright red blaster bolt hit Calki in the chest and the young man sprawled forward into the sand, dead before he hit the ground.

"Damn it!" Massano shouted, ducking back behind the wall as more blaster shots pocked the ground near his feet. He shouldered his rifle and peeked out from the wall, frantically searching for a target.

The hot cloud of smoke and haze was slowly lifting, but it was still too chaotic to pick out friend from foe. Even the laser sight on the end of his rifle wasn't enough to find a target.

"_Damn_ it!" he repeated, putting his back against the wall once more.

_This __isn__'__t __happening_, he thought to himself. _This __isn__'__t _happening_!_

He heard screams from the street beyond, but he could do nothing to help his militia troopers; he couldn't hit anything with the haze of the after-explosion, and he was no good to his troopers if he was dead.

He activated his comm unit and shouted, "All militia troops in the vicinity, hold your position! Don't let them break through!"

"-ay again, Massano," came the response. "Your... -ransmission is breaking... -omeone must be jamming th... -ignals!"

Massano clipped the comm unit onto his belt with a curse and gripped his rifle tightly. _This __has __gone __on __long __enough__. __I __have __to __do __something__._

He threw himself around the corner again and was finally met by silence. The area beyond was still, the smoke and haze finally dissipated. There were no survivors anywhere near the cantina, and there was a steady path of destruction leading away to the south. He activated his comm once more.

"Perimeter guard, report," he said.

"No sign of... -ther Imperials," said the officer. "Your orders, sir?"

Massano scowled as he followed the trail of destruction deeper into the city. "Keep Retchata under constant posted guard; no shift changes until we get this under control. Tell our reserves to get moving and converge on Sector Haroon-Ten. I think that's why they're going."

"Why? Why would... -go there?"

"Simple," Massano said. "It's a trap."

There was a long pause over the comm. Then the officer hesitantly said, "...and your plan?"

A small grin flashed across Massano's dirty and bloody face.

"Spring the trap."

* * *

><p>Vhetin's partner sprinted down the south-bound alley, rifle held at the ready, keeping his gaze on every possible attack vector he could find. He tossed grenades as he went, making sure they caused as much damage as possible.<p>

_ A __nice, __clear __path __to __lead __them __right __to __me and away from Vhetin. A clever distraction if ever I saw one._

As he ran, he activated an open channel to Vhetin and said, "Vhetin, I'm on my way to the rendezvous point. How close are you to finding Retchata?"

The sounds of sounds of blasters came over the channel, and Vhetin grunted, "I'm working as fast as I can, but I've run into severe resistance. Keep them occupied for a while longer."

His partner nodded solemnly beneath his helmet and skidded to a halt, turning down a side alley as he tossed another grenade. "I'll see what I can do, but I can't keep this wild bantha chase up forever. Get the show on the road."

"Copy that."

The partner dashed down another alley, hearing the sounds of approaching footsteps.

He was right; this wouldn't work forever. He was probably already running out of time.

* * *

><p>Vhetin ducked down behind a swollen water barrel and tossed his depleted blaster rifle aside. He grabbed his twin pistols and checked the tibanna charge.<p>

They were both full; that was good, but it wasn't good enough. He'd probably only have enough ammo to take out two or three militia troopers. And there were six of the buggers out there.

_I __think __this __situation __needs __a __more __explosive __solution_, he thought.

He crouched, bracing his knees in the sand, and lowered his helmet's flag-like rangefinder. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his pistols, and straightened. Blaster bolts instantly began impacting around him, but he didn't move, didn't even flinch. He fired as fast as he could, making sure he landed as many shots as accurately as he could. He just needed a few seconds.

_ Three__... __two__... __one__!_

He grinned in triumph as his HUD's targeting reticule flashed red and the words TARGET LOCKED flashed across his vision.

He ducked down behind the barrel again and tapped a three-button sequence into his vambrace-mounted keypad. There was a quiet beep inside his helmet, and a button on the keypad lit up red.

He touched the button, and a plume of exhaust spouted from the base of his jetpack rocket. With a roar that nearly deafened him even with his helmet's audio dampers, the rocket flashed into the air, spiraling higher into the sky before arcing back down and impacting in the center of the dug-in militia troopers.

The troopers screamed and flew through the air, some of them hitting against the nearby buildings head-first. The rest just sprawled into the sand, clutching their burns and shrapnel wounds and screaming.

Vhetin didn't waste a moment; he darted from cover and dashed toward the building where the militia was housing Retchata. As he ran, he tossed aside his pistols and grabbed the twin lightsaber hilts hooked on his belt. He ignited the red blades and somersaulted as a four-trooper patrol appeared from down a side alley. They stared at the lightsabers in shock and brought their weapons to bear.

Vhetin came to his feet right in front of them and slashed forward. The two leading troopers fell with deep slash wounds to the chest, coughing loudly with smoke pouring from their mouths. Vhetin spun and spun his sabers down, severing the arms of the last two at the elbow. He pivoted and decapitated them both with a single swift strike before knocking the troopers out of the way and continuing, barely slowed down.

_ Almost __there__,_ he thought as the building's heavy durasteel blast door slowly grew closer. _Almost __there__, __almost __there__, __almost__-_

A muscular arm flashed out from behind a corner and caught Vhetin in the face. The Mandalorian grunted in surprise as he flipped head-over-heels from the force of the blow. His lightsabers flew from his hands, deactivating with a hiss as he landed on his back in the sand.

A large boot slammed down on his throat and he sputtered, clutching frantically at the heavy combat shoe.

"You didn't really think," Massano growled, pushing his boot down further against Vhetin's neck, "that your idiot partner would lure me into such an obvious trap, did you?"

Vhetin gagged and choked, "I... I-"

"I trusted you!" Massano shouted, pressing the barrel of his blaster rifle to Vhetin's helmet forehead. "I _trusted __you_! I let _you_ talk _me _into leading this militia! And now you just toss me and my men aside when we aren't of _use_ _to __you__?_"

"I do... what... I am _told_," Vhetin choked out. "I... obey _orders_. Just like you."

"I'm nothing like you, you heartless _bastard__!_" Massano shouted, grinding his boot heel harder into Vhetin's throat.

"Then..." Vhetin grimaced as he found the words harder and harder to form, "shoot me now."

Massano scowled. "You're not worth the effort. You're slime, who kills for money."

"If you really want nothing but the best for your troops," Vhetin growled, "you'll _shoot __me __now_."

Vhetin could see the steely look of determination in Massano's eyes, could see the resolve. There was no question that the man would indeed kill him.

"I... am ready," Vhetin gasped. "Are you?"

Massano's finger tightened on the trigger.

With a yell, the steel-gray form of Vhetin's partner came barreling out of a side ally, tackling Massano _mesgeroya_ style. Massano let out a shout of surprise and the blaster shot went wide as the two toppled into the sand.

Vhetin flipped to his feet once more, grabbing his fallen lightsabers, igniting them with a flourish, and turning to Massano.

His partner wrenched the militia leader's blaster from his hand, grabbing it and aiming it squarely at Massano's head. He slowly got to his feet again, backing up while keeping the blaster aimed at his enemy.

"You're late," Vhetin muttered as he brushed the sand from his armor.

His partner grunted. "Blame it on Anchorhead city council. The streets here are like a karking maze, and the southern part of the city is even more so."

The two turned their gazes back to Massano. Vhetin's partner tightened his grip on the blaster and sighted down the barrel.

"The penalty for attacking an Imperial agent on assignment," he growled, "is death. Effective immediately."

Massano sneered and spat, "I expected more than military protocol from the infamous Boba Fett. You're no better than those third-gen stormtroopers, spouting Imperial code at every chance they get."

The sun flashed across the expressionless T-visor of Fett's slate-gray helmet, and Vhetin could almost see the scowl that was undoubtedly flashing across his partner's face. His finger tightened on the trigger, the roles suddenly flipped; now, Massano was the one at the mercy of his enemy.

For a moment, Vhetin considered giving his partner the satisfaction of killing him. But as he looked in his former friend's eyes, he knew that that was the last thing they needed now; whatever side they were on now, he and Massano knew each other. They had been friends. And allowing Fett to kill him now wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

It wasn't _just__._

"Wait," Vhetin said, stepping forward. His partner jumped slightly and pulled the rifle away, broken from the heady sensation of having a target in one's blaster sights.

Vhetin looked from his partner to Massano, who was lying on the ground, panting. He narrowed his eyes, then looked back to his partner.

"He's not the target," he said in a calm voice. "Retchata is. Massano's not our problem."

His partner stared at him for a moment. Vhetin could almost see the contempt on his partner's hidden face. The gray-armored mercenary sighed, then shot Massano in the stomach with a stun round. The militia leader convulsed, then collapsed into a limp heap.

Fett lowered the rifle and glanced over at Vhetin. "What was all that about?" he asked.

Vhetin stared at Massano's limp form, then shook his head. "Its nothing. Like I said, he's not the target."

"That's all well and good, but now where _is _the target?"

Vhetin nodded wearily, agreeing with him. His partner had a good point; in escaping from the cantina, they had now lost their only lead to Retchata's whereabouts. Vhetin's chrono now showed that almost a half an hour had passed since they'd been trapped within the cantina. That meant the trail was rapidly growing cold.

"Um..." Vhetin wracked his brain for anything that would be of use to their hunt. The slightest clue, the most far-fetched idea would do for now.

Then something came to him. He almost slapped his palm against his helmet forehead as he said, "Okay, I have an idea."

He gestured to the unconscious Massano and said, "Search him for anything you can find; a comlink, a blaster, anything."

Fett stared at him, and Vhetin stared back.

"What?"

Fett's cold, expressionless gaze didn't waver from him. "You're going to try it again, aren't you? Your little Jedi trick."

"I told you," Vhetin sighed in frustration, kneeling and checking Massano's pockets, "psychometry has next to nothing to do with Jedi, and I _can't_use the Force. I can just... _do _this. I don't know how."

"It's still too much like Jedi tricks," Fett grumbled. "And I don't like-"

They both paused as they heard the sounds of approaching footsteps from the right-hand alley. Fett stepped forward and adjusted his grip on his rifle.

"Looks like the rest of the militia picked their way through the labyrinth," he said quietly, raising the blaster. "Whatever you're going to do, do it quick; I won't be able to keep these guys at bay forever."

"Going as fast as I can," Vhetin assured him as he rooted through Massano's jacket. He found a comlink, a small pocket blaster, an identification card, and a holo-stylus with depleted power cells. He took all the objects and set them aside before rolling Massano over and binding his hands and ankles with a length of whipcord from his gauntlet.

Three loud blaster shots rang through the quiet air as Fett took a step toward the approaching militia troopers. Vhetin was again reminded of how little time they had, and his motions grew steadily faster as he tied Massano's feet together around a nearby post.

He settled himself in the sand in front of the objects he'd found, trying to ignore the loud _snap_ of blaster shots only a few feet away.

_Calm__..._ he thought. _Be __calm__. __That's __the __key_.

He slowly picked up the comlink, passing it between his fingers. His fingertips tingled slightly, as if the comlink was electrically charged. He was vaguely aware of his vision fading away to black, as if he'd been blinded by a bright light.

That wasn't far from the truth; he knew from witness accounts that while using his psychometry ability, his eyes glowed a bright, blinding blue.

A frown creased his face as his head began to ache; a sure sign that it was working. With a quiet gasp, he forced his consciousness down his body, through his fingertips, into the comlink. He could feel it, like an electric jolt through his body.

A bolt of pain split his head, and his hand clenched around the comlink as voices and images suddenly echoed through his mind, adding to the cacophony of the firefight between his partner and the militia troopers.

_"All __militia __troops __in __the __vicinity__,_" came Massano's voice, echoing as if heard from far away, _"hold __your __position__! __Don__'__t __let __them __break __through__!__"_

_ "__-__ay __again__, __Sergeant __Massano__,__" _came the response, the distant voice full of static and electric backwash. _"Your__... -__ransmission __is __breaking__... -__omeone __must __be __jamming __th__... -__ignals__!__"_

The wavering image of a dirty and bloody Massano flashed through Vhetin's mind as the militia leader clipped the comm unit onto his belt, muttering a curse. He gripped his rifle tightly and took a deep breath. After a moment, Vhetin saw him move around the corner of the building he was sheltering behind. After surveying the destruction for a moment with a steely look in his eyes, he unclipped his comm once more.

_ "Perimeter __guard__, __report__,__" _he said.

_ "No __sign __of __either __Imperials__,__" _said the officer, his voice still awash with static. _"Your __orders__, __sir__?__"_

Massano scowled as he slowly began to follow the destructive path left by Vhetin's partner. _"Keep __Retchata __under __constant __posted __guard__; __no __shift __changes __until __we __get __this __under __control__,__" _he snapped. _"Tell __our __reserves __to __get __moving __and __converge __on __Sector __Haroon__-__Ten__. __I __think __that__'__s __why __they__'__re __going__.__"_

_ "Why__? __Why __would __they __go __there__?__"_

_ "Simple__,__"_Massano growled. _"It__'__s __a __trap__.__"_

There was a long pause over the comm. Then the officer hesitantly said, _"__...__and __your __plan__?__"_

A small grin flashed across Massano's battle-worn face.

_ "Spring __the __trap__.__"_

With a gasp, Vhetin came back to his surroundings; the acidic smell of singed rock filled the air, and Fett ducked behind the wall as blaster bolts flew from the alley. He pulled a thermal detonator from his belt and lobbed it into the alley.

"Hurry up!" he snapped as a loud _boom_ split the air and a cascade of sand and superheated rock erupted from the mouth of the alley.

Vhetin took a deep breath and grabbed the pocket blaster. Once again, he gripped the pistol tightly and forced his mind down through his fingertips and into the object.

The image of a crowded stone room, filled with holographic monitoring equipment and listening devices, sprang into his mind. Massano was standing next to a militia lieutenant with Retchata standing behind them. All three were intently focused on a bank of monitoring equipment before them.

_ "Give __him __to __us__,__"_Vhetin heard his own voice say, _"and __we __can __avoid __some __unnecessary __bloodshed __for __everyone __involved__.__"_

_ "Ah__, __Vhetin __the __Negotiator__,__" _Massano spat. _"I __was __wondering __when __you__'__d __play __that __card__. __But __I __don__'__t __see __what__'__s __in __it __for __me __and __my __troops__. __Retchata__'__s __one __of __our __protectees __and __an __old __member __of __the __militia__. __If __we __gave __up __every __one __of __our __protectees __just__ '__cause __the __karking __Imps __sent __Mandalorians __after __them__-__"_

_ "Last __chance__,__" _Vhetin's voice over the comm transmitter interrupted. _"Give __us __Retchata __or __suffer __the __consequences__.__"_

_ "Go __to __hell__,__" _Massano replied, almost matter-of-factly. _"You __and __your __partner__, __too__.__"_

Massano signed off the comm and handed it back to the lieutenant seated at a bank of monitoring equipment. The trooper stared at the militia leader for a moment, hesitated, then asked, _"Sir__, __do __you __think __that __was __the __wisest __thing __to __do__? __After __all__, __they __are__-__"_

_"I __wouldn__'__t __change __my __mind __if __it __was __Darth __Vader __himself __in __there__,_" Massano interrupted. _"We __don__'__t __give __up __our __protectees __to __anyone__, __least __of __all __Imperials__. __Now __order __squads __three __and __four __to __get __into __position__. __I__'__ll __be __there __shortly__.__"_

He turned to Retchata, who had listened in on the conversation in nervous silence.

_"You__,__" _he said, _"stay __here __and __make __sure __you __stay __out __of __sight__. __You __can __come __out __once __we __give __you __the __all-__clear__. __Take __my __ID __card __and __tell __the __militia __leaders __at __safehouse __D __that __I__ordered __them __to __guard __you__.__"_

He turned to the lieutenant. _"Give __the __order __for __the __militia __to __move __in__.__"_

The image retreated, leaving Vhetin gasping for breath again. He scowled and tossed the weapon aside.

"What's it look like?" Fett called to him, setting his rifle to full-auto suppressive fire and opening up on the troopers down the alley.

"Getting closer," Vhetin shouted back. He quickly grabbed the identification card. They would probably only have time for one more. Lucky that this was the one they needed.

Almost as soon as his fingers brushed the surface of the ID card, the image of a crowded Anchorhead street exploded into his mind. He heard Retchata's gasping breath has he ran for the militia safehouse. The man shoved civilians out of his way as he dashed down a side ally. Vhetin watched intently, thinking, _left__... __right__... __straight__... __left __again_, as Retchata turned down each street.

He finally came to a stop about a half-kilometer away from Vhetin's current position, to a small stone building guarded by two orange-clad militia troopers. Vhetin watched intently as a gasping and panting Retchata held up the ID card and relayed Massano's message to them. The militia troopers talked among themselves, then took the card and ushered Retchata inside, ordering another trooper to return Massano's card.

He jerked his mind out of the ID card and shouted, "Got it!"

"Good!" his partner shouted back as blaster bolts stitched across the wall behind him. He ducked and fired two shots of his own. "Let's move!"

Vhetin clambered to his feet, scooped up his lightsabers, and jogged over to his partner's position. As he ran, he pulled a silvery stun grenade from his belt, hit the primer button, and tossed it down the alley. He caught a glimpse of maybe fifteen troopers before a blinding flash of light erupted from the flashbang, swiftly followed by an explosive roar that shook sand from the roofs of buildings ten meters away.

He stepped up the pace and moved down a side alley to the left. Fett followed him, saying, "So did you find out where he is?"

Vhetin nodded. "Follow me, and I'll get us there."


	4. Chapter 4

4

"_What do you mean, 'have I ever done anything I regret?' Of course I have. I've done things that I regret every moment of every day. And you will too, eventually. It's just a part of a bounty hunter's life._"

-Cin Vhetin, during a training session with his future partner, Jay Kolta

With a tremendous crash, the heavy durasteel door of the militia safehouse was blasted off its track. The huge door teetered in mid-air for a moment before falling flat within the building.

The two Imperials stepped into the building, quickly examining the empty room with their rifles.

"All clear," Vhetin murmured as his partner slowly lowered his rifle.

"So where's Retchata?" Fett said, surveying the small room with his expressionless armored gaze. "You said he'd be here."

Vhetin consulted his HUD readout, scanning for signs of movement and frowning in confusion. "I saw him enter this building, but I don't..."

He trailed off, looking around the room again. There was nothing overly unusual. It was a small room built of the same rocky material as countless other buildings in Anchorhead. There was a bank of holo-monitors along one wall, and a rack of blaster rifles along the other. There was a large campaign poster bearing the militia's symbol that read in Huttese, 'Tatooine belongs to those who live there. Help your local militia to keep it that way.'

Fett stared at the poster and let out a quiet chuckle. "Their defiance is almost admirable."

"It should be," Vhetin murmured, narrowing his eyes as he focused on a suspiciously rough section of the wall. "My girlfriend and I helped start it."

"Right," Fett said. "In the meantime, where the hell is Retchata?"

Vhetin swiveled, looking for something, anything that would explain where their target was. He stepped closer to one wall, placing a hand against the rough-hewn stone. He closed his eyes and focused...

Images once more exploded into his mind, images of a trembling, cowering Retchata in the presence of the two orange-clad militia troopers standing in the same room he and his partner now occupied. Vhetin saw from the chrono on the wall that it had taken place only fifteen minutes before he'd arrived.

_"W-what are you going to do?_" Retchata stammered, his eyes darting around the room and lingering on the rack of blaster rifles.

The militia troopers were talking to each other. At Retchata's question, one of them looked up and said, "_We're going to smuggle you out of the city through the tunnel network. When we've dealt with these Imperials, we'll send a scout to bring you back."_

The wavering image twitched, like a sputtering hologram, then faded. Vhetin's eyes snapped open as he silently mouthed the words, _tunnel network._

He turned back to Fett, who was looking at him with evident expectance. As he did, he noticed that there was a single long-barreled rifle missing from the wall.

That wasn't good. Now Retchata was armed.

"Look around the area," he said to his partner. "Look for some kind of secret switch or something. There's a door here leading to a hidden network of tunnels that the militia use to smuggle their protectees out of the city."

"Are you sure?"

Vhetin nodded. "I saw it. That's where the troopers sent Retchata."

Fett nodded and raised his gaze to the ceiling, looking for a sign of some kind of mechanism. As he searched, he stepped forward to where Vhetin had just been standing. Vhetin paused and turned as he heard a hollow _thud_.

His partner had obviously heard it as well, for he looked down at his foot and took a step back.

"What the..." he murmured. He reached his boot out and tapped at the sand. His actions were met with a dull _thud_, just like before.

Vhetin knelt and brushed sand from the surface of a buried trapdoor. Made of heavy durasteel like the door, this was obviously a part of the building's layout.

Fett snorted. "Who needs a secret switch when you can just bury the door?"

Vhetin dug his fingers under the edge of the trapdoor. He braced his feet and grunted, "Will you help me with this?"

His partner moved to help, then paused.

"Wait," he said, "what if Retchata's got some kind of trap set up down there? Like a mine or a tripwire or something?"

Vhetin paused. It was a valid concern; their target had had time to dig in and prepare his defenses. There was bound to be something down there, and it would be a rookie mistake to barge in and get killed this close to the end of the mission.

Fett got down on his knees and stared at the slight lip that surrounded the trapdoor. He let out a quiet _hmm_, then said, "If you can lift it up a little, I can send the holodroid down there. See what we've got."

Vhetin nodded and waited as his partner pulled a tiny bug-like optical droid from a pouch on his belt, synced it to an equally tiny projector, and got into position. He lay down on his stomach and held the tiny droid between thumb and forefinger. The little robot was barely larger than a human thumbnail, but if there was a trap down there, they'd need to be careful not to spring it with the droid all the same.

"Okay," his partner murmured, his gravelly voice tight with concentration. "Whenever you're ready."

Vhetin nodded and pulled upward as hard as he could. He felt the trapdoor shift the slightest bit, and he doubled his efforts.

"I can't get it in yet," his partner said. "Put your back into it."

Vhetin let out a strained grunt of frustration, to which his partner replied, "Don't complain; you're the fancy superhuman Imperial Agent. Prove it."

Vhetin scowled deeply and braced his feet even more securely. A shout of effort tore itself from his throat as he pulled upwards with all his considerable effort. There was a metallic groan from the trapdoor, and it raised itself up a fraction of an inch more.

"Okay," Fett said, moving his hand forward. "Got it. Mech unit deployed."

"Move... your... _hand_," Vhetin groaned before pulling his hands back and letting the trapdoor fall shut with a _boom_.

Fett got to his feet again, brushing sand from his armor and saying, "The droid should send us feedback within a few-"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a blue-white hologram sprang to life from the tiny projector.

The droid clicked and beeped as it surveyed the room below. Vhetin narrowed his eyes, staring at the image intently, memorizing every aspect he could see.

The droid was viewing a long stone hallway, possibly an old sewer tunnel, with large recesses cut into the rough-hewn walls. A misty cloud obscured much of what lay only a few meters ahead of the droid, and the ceiling dripped with dew.

Vhetin read the information the drone was sending back; the hall stretched on for more than a hundred meters, until it was out of the droid's scanning range. The liquid dripping from the ceiling was runoff from the water-distribution pipes above, and it looked as if the pipes were rigged to explode in case of unwanted attention. But most interestingly, the temperature was almost sub-zero in the hall.

Vhetin frowned. Those halls were temp-controlled; that was unusual for Tatooine. The militia had something going on down there, and Vhetin was intensely curious as to what it was.

He shook his head. Retchata was the primary target. Everything else came second.

Fett, meanwhile, was controlling the droid from his HUD's control systems. The image swiveled slowly to project the image of a piece of boxy mechanical equipment, strung from the ceiling and attached to the trapdoor by thin cords of wire. A small light was blinking steadily on the side.

"Damn" Fett muttered. "Trip mine. If you'd lifted that trapdoor up much higher, we'd both be plastered to the wall right now."

Vhetin knelt next to the uncovered trapdoor and slapped his palm against it. The holographic trip mine shook slightly.

"He's got that thing set very sensitively," Vhetin said. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Fett nodded slowly. "Yeah. Step back."

Vhetin retreated against one wall while Fett pressed himself into a corner on the opposite side of the room. On the projector a single tiny droid arm, manipulated by Fett, reached out and tugged at the wire.

There was a half-second of silence in which the wire separated from the mine's housing. Vhetin pressed himself against the wall and covered his head.

A muffled explosion shook the building, and the trapdoor was blown upward through the ceiling, roaring upward on a column of fire. The flames fanned out through the room, engulfing the two Imperials. Vhetin squeezed his eyes shut and sealed his suit to protect him from the flames, still able to feel the heat on his skin.

After a few moments of inferno, the flames flickered and sputtered out, leaving the room silent. Vhetin slowly opened one eye, then looked around the room.

The holo-monitors were all but destroyed; some had been blown across the room, some had been cracked by the heat, and some had been melted where they hung. The rack of blasters was still intact, though all the rifles had spilled onto the floor. The sand in the room had been scorched black, and the area around the newly created aperture in the floor had been fused to glass, and it crunched as Vhetin stepped closer.

Fett knelt on the other side of the hole, staring into the misty depths through the expressionless gaze of his faceplate. He glanced up at Vhetin and gestured to the hole.

"Senior officers first," he said coolly.

Vhetin flexed his grip on his lightsabers, then jumped through the hole, into the hazy hall below. After a moment, Fett followed him, dropping down and disappearing from view.

Several moments later, the trapdoor crashed back through the ceiling and hit the ground with a loud _clang_.

* * *

><p>Vhetin fell two meters to the ground below. He hit the ground, rolled, and came to his feet with lightsabers lit. His helmet's low-light mode did nothing to cut through the fog, and his thermal imaging was useless in the cold temperature of the hall. His HUD automatically switched to sonic-viewing mode to cut through the fog.<p>

The wordsSCANNING flashed across his HUD in large letters, then the world exploded into blue-white clarity, broken only by slight static as his equipment sent out a sonic wave that illuminated the area once more. His helmet beeped slightly with each new ping.

A new Imperial technology, sonic-viewing equipment allowed the user's equipment to emit a synthetic mechanical echolocation ping for precisely this sort of situation; areas where low-light scanners and thermal imaging were equally useless. Vhetin had never considered equipment of such kind before receiving it, but since then he'd found it an invaluable asset in battle.

With a grunt of surprise, Fett landed next to him, driven to his hands and knees from the force of the landing. He stood, shaking off the rough landing and shouldering his rifle.

"Interesting set-up the militia have down here," he said, surveying the hall with his own sonic equipment. "Why do you think they would need all of this?"

Vhetin shook his head as he slowly got to his feet. His glowing scarlet lightsabers steamed in the damp air, adding to their misty surroundings.

"I have no clue," he said, narrowing his eyes as his armor sent out another quiet sonic ping. "Storage facility, maybe?"

Fett walked up to one of the niches cut into the wall. What they hadn't been able to see from the hologram was that each recess in the wall was actually a doorway, blocked by another large durasteel door.

"Retchata could be in any one of these rooms," Fett said. "We don't have time to search them all."

Vhetin agreed, nodding slowly as he deactivated his humming lightsabers. He knelt in the sand, pressed his fingertips into the ground, and closed his eyes.

Hundreds of images flashed through his mind; he saw humans, Twi'leks, Nikto, Wookies, and a myriad of other species as they hurried through the tunnels, many times ushered by militia troopers.

He gasped as the blue-white light that streamed from his eyes slowly faded.

"This is a smuggling route," he said, breathing hard. "The militia uses it to keep their protectees safe when they're in danger."

"Like now?"

He nodded.

Fett turned to the door again, looking up and down the long hall. "So... every one of these doors leads to a room full of Imperial fugitives?"

"Don't get any funny ideas," Vhetin said darkly, standing to his full height again. "They aren't our concern."

"I'm not thinking of _killing_ them," Fett shot back. "But if this tunnel goes on for as long as the hoodooed said... this could take _days_."

"And Retchata will have gotten away by then," Vhetin finished. He shook his head to clear it, then turned to his partner. "Let's head up the hall a little way and see if my psychometry works better. There's too many people passing through this corridor to pick out a single target."

It was slow going from then on; for another fifteen meters down the tunnel it was impossible to pick out Retchata's imprint from the hundreds of others.

A few minutes later, Vhetin stopped and knelt in the sand once more. He pressed his hand to the ground and his vision once more faded.

He sifted through the images that flashed through his mind, trying to find one out of hundreds. He tried to focus on only those beings that were fleeing in fear. But since the militia sent their protectees here in times of danger, there were quite a few.

A Quarren mercenary who was missing one arm glanced over his shoulder, face tentacles twitching in terror as the militia ushered him down the tunnel.

A family of Twi'lek's moving down the hall as quickly as they could with two younglings and a newborn. The militia troopers gently urged them to hurry, that an Imperial scanning crew was due for an inspection in a few minutes.

A young woman who looked over her shoulder furiously and hefted a large pistol, snapping at her trooper guard that she wanted to head back outside and face down whoever was hunting her. The troopers - obviously impatient - told her that it was suicide and guided her further down the tunnel.

Vhetin pulled himself from the flow of images with effort and shook his head to clear it of any images that lingered in his mind. He ignored Fett's impatient muttering and thought, _This isn't working. I need to narrow my search._

He didn't know how; he couldn't get into Retchata's head, and nothing short of that would give Vhetin any clues as to their target's mindset. Unless...

_Look for a different kind of fear_, he thought with dawning realization. _Retchata knows who we are; look for something other than the fear of being discovered._

_Look for the fear of someone who _knows_ he's going to be discovered. Who knows he's not going to make it._

He pressed his hand into the ground again and dived into the flood of images once more. He flashed from one to another with blinding speed, searching for that specific type of fear. That intoxicating mix of gut-wrenching terror and steely acceptance that one's life was about to end that Vhetin himself had felt so often before...

_There!_

His search froze on the image of Retchata sprinting alone down the hall, casting glances over his shoulder and clutching his stolen blaster rifle as he went. He continued watching, counting the doors as Retchata dashed past them. After a few moments, the man skidded to a halt, keyed open a door, and ducked into a vacant room.

Vhetin's eyes snapped open and he murmured, "Gotcha."

He looked up at his partner. "Fifty-three doors down on the right. Retchata's holed up in one of the rooms with a blaster rifle."

"You're sure?"

He got to his feet and began running down the misty corridor.

"Do I look unsure?"

* * *

><p>Retchata crouched in the dark, heart pounding, as he waited for the Imperials to catch up with him.<p>

He knew he wouldn't make it out of this fiasco alive. Vhetin was as stubborn as they came, and Fett's presence only assured his fate.

He pulled a comlink from his belt, keying in a code with trembling fingers as he steadied his stolen blaster rifle on the door with the other hand.

The hailing tone sounded inside the room for a long minute before a familiar female voice said, "Hello?"

"Tammi," he said, almost trembling with relief. "Hi. It's Hallan."

"Right," the woman said, a definite note of suspicion entering her voice. "And what do you want?"

"I... can you put Nali on comms for me?"

There was an agonizingly long pause over the comm.

"I'm not sure she wants to talk to you, Retchata."

Retchata let out a shaky breath and said, "Just put her on, will you? It's a matter of life and death."

The woman must have heard the fear in Retchata's voice, for she said, "Fine. Hold on."

Retchata sat in the darkness for what seemed like an eternity. Then Nali's sweet voice cut through the darkness. Retchata had never heard a more beautiful sound, even though Nali was obviously angry.

"Retchata, you know that-"

"Listen," he interrupted. "I've only got a few minutes before... before I have to go."

He swallowed, the words catching in his throat, and said, "I just wanted you to know... I still love you. I always have."

There was silence over the comms. Then Nali said, "Are you drunk again?"

Retchata laughed. "No, I'm not drunk. I'm just seeing reason for the first time."

"Whatever. I suppose-"

He interrupted again, needing to hear something before the end came. "Nali, do you still love me?"

"I think the fact that I divorced you would-"

"I need to know," Retchata said, some of the fear breaking through his carefully-controlled voice. "I... It's important, Nali."

When she spoke again, she sounded worried. It made Retchata's heart skip a beat; that meant she still cared, as much as she denied.

"Hallan," she said, using his first name just like in the old days, "what's wrong now?"

"I..." he debated on whether to tell her or not. It would help to ease the fear if he told her the truth; that there were Imperials after him, Mandalorians, and that he probably wouldn't survive the next five minutes. But filling her with fear and worry was no way to leave behind his loved ones. So he forced a chuckle and said, "Nothing, sweetheart. I just wanted to tell you I love you. That's all."

"Right," Nali said, still sounding worried. "Okay, I'll play along. I love you too."

"Serious?"

She hesitated, then said, "Hallan, you know-"

He smiled and said, "Yeah. I know. Good-bye."

"Bye," she said, sounding confused.

He deactivated the comm, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He took a deep breath, then another.

As he prepared for a third, he heard footsteps approaching from down the hall outside.

He adjusted his position, kneeling in the tiny room and raising the blaster rifle. He narrowed his eyes, staring through the scope on the rifle. The night-vision systems cut through the darkness, illuminating everything with an eerie fuzzy-white glow.

No, he wasn't going to make it out of the next few minutes alive. But if he was lucky, he'd be able to take one of those Imperial bastards with him before he went down.

_Come on you fierfeks, _he thought with a scowl as he heard voices outside the door. _Come and get me._

* * *

><p>Vhetin and Fett stood outside the door, staring at it. After a few seconds of silence, Fett looked over at his partner.<p>

"You're sure he's in here?"

Vhetin slowly stepped up to the door and brushed his fingertips against it, closing his eyes and concentrating hard. The image of Retchata, cowering in the dark and hefting a large rifle, sprung into his mind. This image was only a few seconds old; he could feel it.

He pulled his hand away and nodded. "Yeah. He's here."

He pulled the twin lightsabers from his belt, ignited them, and plunged them into the door. He grimaced as sparks danced across his vision, bouncing off his visor as he pulled the blades out and pulled down, cutting a rough rectangle in the door. It was a struggle; the door was thick and made of some kind of metallic material that his lightsabers struggled to cut through.

When he was satisfied with his work he stepped back, making room for his partner. Fett braced himself on one end of the door, gripping his rifle tightly.

With a loud groan and a puff of sand, the sliced remains of the door fell down onto the dusty ground. Vhetin glanced to his partner, who nodded, then ducked into the dark room.

His visor immediately switched to low-light mode, just in time to see Retchata pulling the rifle to his shoulder and squeezing the trigger. He attempted to pull his lightsabers up to block the inevitable shot, but was a fraction of a second too slow. The red blaster bolt lit up the dark room and exploded against Vhetin's chestplate.

Even at close range, the bolt was nowhere near powerful enough to harm the _beskar_ armor, but it did pack enough of a punch to knock Vhetin back out through the hole he'd cut in the door. He sprawled back into the sand, letting out a grunt of pain as he clutched at his chest.

Fett ducked into the room, rifle at the ready, only to be met with a similar outcome. He was blasted back out of the room as well, his rifle discharging into the ceiling twice before falling into the sand.

With a glance up and down the hall, Retchata took two tentative steps out of the room, wary of any other Imperials. Seeing no one, he took off at a run down the hall.

_No! _

Vhetin flipped back to his feet, grabbing the lightsaber closest to him and activating it as he dashed after the target. The scarlet blade sprang to life with a loud _snap-hiss_, painting the darkness with blood-red light.

Retchata slowly turned back to him, a look of terror spreading across his face. He attempted to raise the rifle and fire at him again, but Vhetin spun out of the way and slashed down at the rifle. The saber sliced cleanly through the weapon's barrel, leaving Retchata weaponless.

But the target seemed to be determined to put up a fight. He kicked out with his armored boot and caught Vhetin in the chestplate with surprising force. Vhetin staggered back, his lightsaber slipping from his hand again.

Retchata jumped at him with a yell and tackled Vhetin, driving them both into the sand.

"Leave... me... _alone!_" Retchata screamed, futilely beating at Vhetin's helmet with bare fists until his knuckles were bloody. Vhetin planted his foot on Retchata's chest and kicked him away.

Scrambling to his feet, Vhetin swung out with a vicious punch that smashed Retchata's nose. The man cried out in pain, but jumped at Vhetin again, wrapping his hands around the Imperial's throat. Vhetin was surprised by Retchata's strength as the man throttled him. He threw punches into his assailant's gut and ribs, but the man was fueled by hate and fear, and felt none of the blows. The edges of Vhetin's vision began to dim as Retchata squeezed tighter, shaking him back and forth.

"Damn... Imperial _scum!_"

Suddenly, Retchata looked up, at something beyond Vhetin's shoulder, and his grip loosened slightly.

A red blaster bolt flashed past Vhetin's shoulder, inches from his helmet, and hit Retchata in the chest. The man screamed as he flew back and landed on his back a few feet away.

Vhetin fell to his knees, holding his throat and coughing.

Fett calmly stepped forward, staring at Retchata's crumpled form with the same expressionless gaze as always. After a moment, he looked over at Vhetin.

"Are you all right?"

Vhetin nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. As soon as he'd regained his composure, he straightened and the two of them stepped up to their target.

Retchata was sprawled in the sand, arms and legs thrown out in shock. Blood was slowly pooling in the sand beneath him, and it leaked from the corners of his mouth as he choked and coughed.

Vhetin coughed again, rubbing his throat, and said, "Hallan Retchata, you are hereby charged with the destruction of an Imperial admiral's supply depot on Ryloth, as well as aiding and abetting the local illegal militia."

Fett just stared at the target, gripping his rifle tightly.

"Added to these charges," Vhetin continued, breathing hard, "are resisting Imperial arrest, fleeing a crime scene, and assault on an Imperial agent with intent to kill."

Retchata coughed up a mouthful of blood and slowly closed his eyes, knowing what was coming. Vhetin saw this and hesitated; the man's bravery in the face of death was commendable.

He shook his head, clearing it of such thoughts; he had a job to do. This was their target; the entire reason they'd had to fight through this sandy hell was to get at him.

Vhetin slowly reached down to his belt and unbuckled the safety strap keeping his spare pistol in its holster. "The punishment for these crimes," he said slowly, pulling the pistol, "is execution, effective immediately."

He raised the pistol and shot Retchata in the head.

The hall was suddenly silent, save for Vhetin's labored breathing. He stared at Retchata's body for a few moments, then his shoulders slumped in exhaustion and he holstered his pistol.

It was done. It was over.

With a sigh, he turned away from Retchata, pulling a handheld holotransmitter from a pouch on his belt. The device was round and flat, like one of the skipping stones that Keldabe children liked to find along the banks of the Kelita River.

With an electronic hum, a shivering holoimage sprang to life. Both Vhetin and Fett instinctively saluted, slapping their left fists to their chests.

"My lord," Vhetin said, bowing his head slightly, "target one has been neutralized."

"Good," Darth Vader rumbled, his voice just as powerful over the hologram as it was in person. The Dark Lord placed his hands on his hips and said, "The second target is hiding across the city in another of the militia's bunkers. The coordinates will be transmitted to you."

Vhetin bowed his head again. "Very good, my lord."

Vader's hologram faded, leaving Vhetin and Fett alone again in the hallway.

Vhetin almost collapsed from disappointment; after all they'd already been through, they were right back at it again. But he couldn't let any of it show; if he did, he'd be showing weakness. And if there was one thing despised above all else in the Empire, it was weakness.

So, he turned back to Fett and said, "What're we waiting for? We've got a job to do."

* * *

><p><em>To be concluded...<em>


	5. Epilogue

Epilogue

**After the mission to Tatooine**

_There's no substitute for what you've lost. I'm not going to lie; you've now entered a world of crime, drugs, and murder, and you can never go back to the bright, naive world you knew before. This will become a part of you now. But if you can find something to hold on to, something to fight for, your life will be much easier._

Vhetin was breathing hard, weary from exhaustion, as he brought _Void_ in over one of the mountain ranges that created the Keldabe River Valley. As he flew lower, he saw the familiar clearing in the forest, with the huge rock near the center. He smiled in relief and relaxed slightly. After a few moments, _Void_ settled down on its landing struts, letting out a mechanical sigh of its own as the engine housing released coolant gas.

He wasn't alone in the clearing; the familiar boxy shape of _Blood Lily_ was also resting near the tree line. Vhetin stared at it for a moment, feeling relief course through his system again. Then he turned and headed for the exit ramp, his pace faster than usual.

_I've never been one to dwell on the past; it's too painful. I've made many mistakes over the years I've worked in this business, and I work as hard as I can in an attempt to right some of those wrongs. It'll never be enough to allow me to forgive myself, but it's something to keep me going. Something to keep me honest._

Brianna was waiting for him, sitting on the old couch in the bastion's center room. She stood when she saw him enter and hugged him tightly when he got closer.

"How was it?" she whispered in his ear. "Bad?"

He said nothing; he didn't have to. She knew just as well as he did what had happened.

She could had been angry, could have shouted at him for attacking the militia the two of them had worked so hard to build, but she didn't. It was one of his favorite things about her; she always knew what to say, when to say it. And she always knew when he just needed silence.

So he just stood there, hugging her tighter and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to chase away the horrors of what he'd done with thoughts of her.

_But I can't tell you what you need to fight for. It's not my place, and only you can make that decision._

_It's not something easily discovered. You may spend years searching for the reason, only to discover that it's been sitting right in front of your nose the entire time._

Fett reclined in the pilot's seat of _Slave I_, his normal green-red helmet resting on the control panel in front of him. Over the years, the angular, menacing T-visor of his helmet had become his portrait, his image. Whenever he looked in the mirror, he saw his father's face, not his own, and his helmet and armor was one of the few things that he truly considered to belong to himself. So, in many ways, looking into the faceplate of his helmet was like looking into his own face, his own soul.

And he wasn't sure he liked what he saw there.

He scowled and shook his head, pushing the helmet aside as he sat forward and pulled up the summary of his credit account. The Tatooine mission hadn't been overly rewarding, but seven thousand credits would be enough to keep his account from bottoming out for a few days at least.

He transferred the credits from his public account into a better-hidden credit pool. The Empire had taps on his account, he was sure, but thanks to a network of credit stashes he'd set up over the past few months, he could spend his money without suspicion of it being traced.

The computer sent a message to the holodisplay near one corner of the cockpit's viewport. Fett glanced at it, then took manual control of the ship.

_Incoming message,_ the holodisplay read.

Fett punched up the message and was greeted with the flickering image of one of Jabba the Hutt's Twi'lek messengers.

"_Master Fett,_" the recorded alien said. "_My employer, his Illustriousness Jabba the Hutt, has a job that needs to be taken care of with the utmost precision and haste. Please travel to my master's palace on Tatooine immediately for your instructions._"

Fett sighed as he sent _Slave I_ into hyperspace and pulled on his helmet once more.

_Right back to it,_ he thought, narrowing his eyes in determination.

_There's all sorts of people in the galaxy, human and otherwise. And it's very important to know that a single event may have profound effects on hundreds of other beings._

_Imagine a pond that's completely calm. Nothing breaks the surface of the water, and it's as smooth as a sheet of glass. Now imagine throwing a stone into the center of that pond. Well after the splash has faded away, the ripples caused by the splash, the aftereffects of that event, continue to flow outward._

_No action is without consequence. Nothing comes free, and you have to be ready for whatever the galaxy might decide to throw at you._

Nali sat on the couch in her plush Naboo lakeside home, watching with tears in her eyes as a HoloNews anchor read a report on what looked like an assassination in Anchorhead, Tatooine.

"While the local Anchorhead militia have yet to release an official statement," the human newsreader was saying, "they have released that the victim was thirty-two year old Hallan Retchata, a human spice smuggler based out of Mos Espa."

The tears finally came, spilling down Nali's cheeks as she stared at the holoscreen with disbelief. She shook her head and whispered, "Oh, Hallan."

"The reason for this attack is unknown, but several reports state that there were two culprits, both dressed in an unidentified combat armor, possibly of Mandalorian make. More details as this develops."

_Bounty hunting is not for the meek. You need to understand that your job, the job you're being paid for, is going to ruin lives, split families, utterly destroy people you've never even met._

Nali stood and walked from the room, hugging herself as she sobbed quietly to the empty room.

Soon the grief began to fade, replaced by a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. She headed for the bedroom, in particular for the small torrawood side table near the bed. She pulled open the top drawer and pulled out all the contents, tossing them to the floor.

She pulled up the lid of the hidden compartment at the bottom and reached inside. She rooted around, past the personal credit account statistics and birth records, until her fingers closed around the contoured grip of the pistol she'd bought for her protection a few years ago.

She pulled it out slowly, followed by the weapon's cleaning kit and three magazines of ammunition.

Tammi walked into the room suddenly, saw the blaster, and cried, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Hallan's dead, Tammi," Nali said, her voice quivering. "I'm going to find whoever did it, and I'm going to kill them."

"Nali," the other woman pleaded. "Please don't do this. Hallan wouldn't want you-"

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me about what Hallan would or wouldn't want me to do!" Nali shouted, feeding a clip of ammunition into the pistol. "You can't stop me. I'm going to find these people, and I'm going to kill them. I probably won't be coming back."

She stormed out of the room, leaving Tammi with tears running down her cheeks.

_But in the end, it none of it matters, because you've spread more good than harm. If you bring in a serial killer responsible for killing hundreds, the one distraught wife left behind is a small price to pay. It may sound cold, but reality isn't pretty. Neither is bounty hunting._

_Neither is Justice._

* * *

><p>Jay blinked slowly, closing the old journal and shaking her head. Her mind was spinning, hardly believing what she'd just read.<p>

_And that all really happened?_ she thought incredulously.

It just didn't fit with her current image of her partner. Vhetin may be a little distant, but he wasn't a _murderer_. He wouldn't have worked as Darth Vader's personal hit man.

Would he?

She didn't know. She wasn't sure she'd ever know. It was a disturbing revelation, and she was starting to wish that she'd never stolen Vhetin's journal in the first place. Maybe that was why he didn't talk much about his past: whatever he'd done before she'd met him, it wasn't good.

She flipped absently through the journal, letting the pages flash by blindingly fast and only partially looking at the blurred words. Was this entire journal full of similar accounts? Times when Vhetin had simply obeyed orders, not caring who or what stood in his way? Times when he had set aside his moral beliefs to obey superiors that were simply using him to fit their own cruel needs?

"Jay? You in there?" she heard her partner's voice over the comm that hung on the wall. She started and hastily tucked the journal under the pillow of the cot she was using while she traveled onboard _Void_.

"Yeah," she replied, glad that her voice didn't sound as guilty as she felt. "I'll be right there."

"Hurry it up," he said. "It's almost time to go."

A few minutes later and they were striding down the ramp together, into the city beyond. As they walked - Vhetin in his usual quiet mood - Jay glanced at him through the corners of her eyes.

There were still so many mysteries about her partner; who he was, why he'd become a bounty hunter, why he'd helped the Empire at all... her head seemed filled with questions.

But now, at least, she had some answers. She now knew that he had once served Darth Vader, the very being who had imprisoned her, beaten her against a tabletop to discover the name of a man who didn't exist, and left her for dead in prison for a crime she'd never committed. She knew that Vhetin had been an elite Imperial Assassin who'd served with the infamous Boba Fett as his partner, just as she was his partner now. And she knew that for all his talk of Justice, he had done terrible things, things that were not just in the least.

But she couldn't find it in herself to hold it against him, no matter how she thought of it.

_Everyone makes mistakes_, she thought to herself. _And everyone deserves a second chance at redemption. At putting right all the horrible things they've done._

So she decided that she would say nothing; she wouldn't forget or look past the fact that he'd worked for the Empire she now hated, but she wouldn't hold it over his head, force him to relive those painful memories again. He was no longer that man, no longer enslaved to an Empire that used him to further its own ends. It wouldn't be fair to him to drag up those memories.

_Because people change, _she thought to herself. _And in the end even someone like Vhetin has hope for a better future. He deserves that chance._

She smiled to herself, satisfied that she was doing the right thing.

He looked over at her as they walked and said, "Is something wrong? You're staring at me."

She shook her head as she turned her gaze back to the street in front of her.

"No," she said with another smile. "Nothing."


End file.
